


spellbinding

by toast (aone)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, F/M, M/M, you're a fairy and sicheng is very uwu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-24 02:15:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14345832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aone/pseuds/toast
Summary: he looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars and the wisps of cosmic dust that trail around the universe like lace ribbons and you say no each time he asks,“are you magic?”





	spellbinding

_"no, but i can use it,"_ you tell him after a few months spent dining with him, walking with him around his campus, and asking for sips of his drink when he only has one straw—finally coming to the decision that he’s someone you can place your trust in. he always asks to hold your hand when you walk down the street like two childhood friends that want to stay together forever.

_(the voices in the back of your mind murmur that it’s not impossible.)_

_"show me,"_ he whispers back, and you lead him to your dorm by the hand—yes, you enrolled at his college just so that you’d have a reason to stick around—and conjure a little sphere of mist that crystallizes into a looking glass. you see johnny and taeyong practicing for their club’s annual dance showcase. yuta’s off to the side, taking a water break. doyoung’s falling asleep in the corner.

mesmerized, he asks you if you’ll show him more and you grin with that unnatural-natural glint in your eye and think _why the hell not?_ but not all at once, of course, your kind isn’t one to reveal all their secrets at once, not even to those closest to them, oh no. that’s not how things go. you boop his nose and nod and lean back against your palms flat against the desk behind you, smug. he looks at you like you paint the trees a magnificent green and searches your fingertips for leftover paint.

he finds none, of course.

you don’t expect him to be impatient and he’s not. he’s understanding and soft-spoken and has all the love in the world to give right back to it and then some, which is what you tell the folks back home the second your heart starts to race a mile a minute whenever he takes your hands and plays with your fingers when there’s nothing else to do.

_(there’s always something else to do, he’s a college student after all, but he pushes the tasks aside and does it still.)_

_"be careful,"_ they say through the liquid mirror, faces more amused than anything and they may be a few centuries older than you are but couldn’t they quit it with the ambiguity? you’re experiencing emotions that humans are more privy to and there’s a part of you that’s excited but an even bigger part of you that’s terrified.

_(don’t let the senses overcome you, the glamor only works under sustained calm._

_... you’ve never been less calm in your 83 years of life.)_

you’re covered in what looks like glitter with leaves and twigs stuck in your everywhere and he asks about where you’ve been and you say _around,_ smirking when he huffs in both annoyance and fondness, smiling when he reaches up to pick the forest from your hair. he knows about your magic but can’t you tell him about where you go on the days you don’t have class and don’t spend twenty-four hours holding his hand?

_i’ve been home._

his eyes go wide and you swear they sparkle. curiosity is in his nature and patience runs through his veins so you tell him a few things. a reward. a gift, of sorts.

the town circle is a clearing with fields and fields of crops and flowers with market stalls running all around its edges, it would take you a while to walk its circumference and you’d have burning feet by the end of it. your homes are in the hollows of grand trees that rival rich skyscrapers, and in the roots that sink into the earth beneath them.

_(“do you have mansions?”_

_“yes, we do.”_

_“how do they look?”_

_“they can’t look, they don’t have eyes.”_

_he huffs, you smile._

_“what do they look like?”)_

mansions are located on the ground by the roots just before they disappear into the dirt, woven into the bark itself and fortified with stone, marble, diamond and protected with old magic. he gasps.

he loves whenever you mention magic.

you give him this because his smile is addicting and if your heart delights in the way he shines and grasps for your arm to make sure you’re not lying then... nobody has to know about it. you surely don’t think twice about it.

_(that’s a lie.)_

when he asks about what food you have back home you side-eye him, smirking. he smiles knowingly, lips pressed together with the corners upturned and you know it’s his way of suggesting you bring something back for him, whenever your next trip is.

when you come back with a charmed basket of compact goodies and set it down in front of his open textbook at the library his brows crease before his eyes go wide, marveling at the 5-star-bakery-worthy, paper-wrapped pastries; the fresh and tiny tea sandwiches; the container of what looks to be a salad but it’s not just green it’s blue _and_ green with purple and pink tomatoes. he’s especially stunned by the swirl of a frozen treat that should be melting or, really, should have melted already but it’s solid yet soft and still emits clouds of vapor.

he looks around because food is not allowed in the library but you catch his attention by waving and you bring a hand down in front of the basket. immediately what he sees is a pile of innocent-looking textbooks and journals, no longer the food that makes his stomach grumble. he grins and shuts his book, standing up and tucking it under an arm.

_(“shall we?”_

_“please. i want to try everything.”_

_you laugh as he hungrily looks at the basket in your hands._

_“wait until we get outside. want to eat out on the quad?”_

_his head bobs up and down in childlike excitement and you can’t stop the giggle that bubbles up your throat.)_

the topic of what exactly you are comes up later than you expected given that he already knows about your capabilities, but it’s still strange to talk about. to talk to a human about.

you thought him elven at first, with the top of his pointy ear sticking out from under his hair, walking across campus with so much in his arms that tripping was inevitable. you didn’t rush to his side immediately but you did step in to help, re-stacking the notebooks and pencil pouches back onto his arms, receiving quiet thanks and a sheepish smile in return.

there was no ounce of familiarity or acknowledgment in his eyes so your interest died fairly quickly. he was cute, very cute in actuality, but you weren’t traversing his world looking for pretty people. you were looking for fun; adventure.

but when he cleared his throat just as you started to turn to leave, you stopped and locked eyes and he asked

_“would you like to grab lunch with me? after i drop off these books at my dorm, of course, but i understand if you need somewhere to be, um...”_

he averted his gaze sometime during his rambling and found his way back to see you with a curled lip and all of your attention on him. you said yes, lunch sounded nice and you were sure if the food wasn’t up to par you could sneak in a little magic seasoning without anyone noticing, and look where you are now.

—

“you have... wings."

that, you do.

his fingers ghost over the edges, careful but awestruck at their translucency and the myriad of colors that they seem to have, shifting in the sunlight filtering in through the blinds. you hug your knees to your chest and watch his face as he’s fixated, amazed by how expressive his eyes are. you don’t flinch when he presses his palm to your right wing. his hands are soft.

“whoa...” he looks at you like he’s seeing the sunset for the first time and you can feel your heart pick up the pace. he gapes as you let the glamor fade away and the rest of you is revealed. “wow...”

there are hands on your cheeks and thumbs tracing the symmetric markings underneath your eyes and a sharp smile crosses your lips. you keep still but retract your wings, folding them against your back in a show of trust.

“don’t they ever tell you to not touch the masterpieces, sicheng?”

he hums neither an affirmation or dismissal and instead continues to follow the marks that run down your chin and under your neck. bringing up your fingers to wrap around his wrists before his trail leads him to your collar, you click your tongue and sicheng chuckles, embarrassed, but you’re still smiling anyway.

“not scared?”

he takes in the colorful whirlpools inside your eyes—irises, pupils, sclera all indistinguishable—without a trace of fear and the light in your chest swells in adoration. you bring his knuckles to your lips and he rests his forehead against yours, nuzzling your nose with his own.

_“never.”_

**Author's Note:**

> i'm in love with dong sicheng, let it be known


End file.
